


Ohana Means Family, It Means No One Gets Left Behind

by Reeves_Dove



Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Universal constants, What-If, accuracy of that word may vary, but it is a word, different universe but they're still moirails even if this world doesn't have words for it, friendship is definitely a word for what happens here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 04:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reeves_Dove/pseuds/Reeves_Dove
Summary: A what-if AU based off of discussions with a friend where an OC of mine and an OC of theirs were tossed into Elsewhere University.Elsewhere University is an interesting place. There are several of it (only one to a world, to a timeline, but this does not reduce or prevent a multitude). In some, there are four students: a girl and three boys (which soon becomes two girls and two boys after the first semester); half of this set are twins, and the first girl is best friends with one twin, not quite as close with the other. All of them are human, for all that the first girl is a Legacy.In others, there are three students - a girl and two boys. Here, the girl is still a Legacy but only one of the boys is human. Some things don't change, despite worlds, however; some things are too much a constant to change that much.





	1. First Semester

**Author's Note:**

> This is first-draft and *very* much unbeta'd. (Also my first fic that I've actually put up anywhere. Or come close to finishing.) Please be kind.
> 
> Thank you to Limesparrow for their willingness to ramble with me about AUs involving our two nerds and for letting me write a thing about Basil and Zei!

Your mother never really talked about your father, when you were growing up. Oh, people would ask where he was, why she was - to all appearances - a single mother; she never left them without an answer, but those answers never really _explained_ anything either.  
"He's not with us any more."  
"He's gone."  
"He's passed beyond."

As far as you could tell, all of this meant that your father was probably dead. You assumed he was probably a soldier or something, because a cheque came every month like clockwork for just enough to cover all the sorts of expenses a growing child would incur. Mostly you didn't think too much about it; other children had daddies, yes, and of course you had one too. You must have, because how else would mama have even _gotten_  you? It's just that your daddy wasn't around any more and never had been as long as you could remember, and that was fine. You didn't really need anyone except mama anyways.

Mostly, you didn't. You still asked her for a brother, a few times - a sibling, as far as you could tell, would mean a friend; someone to play with even when the other kids were being weird and mean. It would mean someone to share the long nights with, and to whisper stories with, and to help keep the things under the bed and in the closet at bay.  
Her exact response was always a little different - a couple times she laughed, once she just looked sad. But the words were always roughly the same: "I can't go fetch one for you, girlchild. If you want a friend that close, you'll have to find them for yourself."

It was disappointing, but it was what it was. You learned to make friends with some of the kids at school, anyways, at least enough to get invited to sleepovers and birthday parties and to have people who were willing to play with you during recess. It got a little more difficult during middle school and high school, when suddenly being able to name and draw dinosaurs wasn't enough, when knitting was suddenly lame (up until they wanted a scarf or a shawl or a hat just like yours, and couldn't find it anywhere in stores), and you were the weird one for not being terribly interested in boys and kissing and makeup. But you survived, with at least a few friends; it probably would have been easier if you could have joined the school band, the kids there were always friendly to you and they seemed your type of people. But your mom always refused to let you take music lessons of any kind; she got weird enough when she caught you singing along to the radio, trying to ask to join choir or band was right out.

(It wasn't a matter of money, you knew that. That monthly cheque aside, her job - whatever it was she did, you never were quite sure, but is any kid sure of what their parent does for a living? - paid well enough that she could indulge you in clothes that at least weren't too far out of step from what the other kids were wearing, and supplying your knitting habit was never a problem. She just didn't seem to like band lessons, and it didn't make sense until years later; she refused to let you join the drama group too.)

Your mother's always been firm about rules; some of them were shared by the teachers in grade school and high school: be polite, don't stare, don't gossip, don't take what isn't yours. Some weren't: always pay your debts; never say 'please' if you can say 'I would like', never say 'thank you' if you can say 'I appreciate that', never ever _ever_  say 'sorry' unless you _want_  to owe a debt.  
It got you in trouble at school, sometimes. Mama had to come in and talk with the teachers more than once, when you were young. It got sorted out. You got more careful with using your words, after that; started keeping a notebook listing who you owe and for what, so you wouldn't risk losing track.

She didn't seem surprised to see the acceptance letter from Elsewhere University, even though you still don't remember applying there. But you'd heard of it - your mom was an alumnus, and a bit of internet research found a lot of other people who were too. All the research you did pointed to it being a good liberal arts school, with a solid track record of its graduates doing spectacularly well after leaving. And they were offering a scholarship for being a legacy student. Sure, some of the rules seemed a little weird, but university in general was probably weird and school traditions weren't that weird - at least they were being kind and letting you know ahead of time what those traditions were. Taking a nickname made sense, given how they explained it; there were ways you were expected to behave, at home, where everyone knew you - at EU, as Houndstooth? You could experiment a little, figure out who you were without those expectations.

So you wrote your nickname down as Houndstooth - you always sort of liked the pattern - and sent your response back. Your mom packed you off with a full set of cast-iron cookware, and got you a whole set of iron jewelry ("it's traditional!") to bring with you to wear. And maybe it was a bit lonely at first, but hey, a new place is an opportunity to make new friends, right? It didn't matter that none of your friends from high school were coming with you, it'd be fine.

And it was fine, for a while. Sure, the schedule adjustment was hard and having a roommate was weird at first. But you got to pick your own classes and took a couple of textile classes, because how cool was it that you could take a course in knitting or weaving? In a fit of boldness, you also took a theatre class - not being on stage, you weren't quite bold enough for _that_ , not yet, but in costume design. And everything went fine, for a while - for months, even, through to the second semester. Sure, costume design was a lot of work (did you really have to hand-sew _everything_?) and some of the actors were jerks, but you were enjoying yourself.

Then Bay Leaf disappeared, and you wouldn't have cared ( _probably wouldn't have noticed, you admit to yourself late at night once_ ) except that he's one of the actors you got assigned to do costuming for and you shared three other classes besides theatre and one of them had everyone in the class partnered up for a group project and you were the unfortunate bugger who'd gotten stuck with Bay Leaf. (It wasn't that he was dumb, or bad at the classwork. It was that he flirted with everyone who sat still for five seconds, and you always felt like you needed to take a shower afterwards because he wouldn't _stop_  even if you were having to measure his inseam.)  
So if you were going to get a decent grade on that project and do your part for the play (and you needed to do both, you really did), you damn well weren't going to be held back by Bay Leaf deciding to go moon over his weirdo boyfriend or Basil (you tried calling him 'not-Bay Leaf' and he grinned at you and just said to call him Basil instead) not being able to touch the computers without weirdness happening, or his limbs being enough longer than Bay Leaf's that you were going to need to completely redo the pants and shirt and jacket if you didn't want to send him out looking like he was wearing second-hand clothes that belonged to someone a lot heavier. (He was thinner than Bay Leaf, too; you carefully avoided the thought that when you were taking _his_ measurements, he sort of looked like someone had taken a doll made out of twigs and turned it into a real boy before sending it out into the world and forgetting to tell it how to eat. Costuming meant you couldn't not notice some things, but that didn't give an excuse for rudeness.)

So. Mostly things were fine after that. Basil at least tried hard in his classes, and if he couldn't use the computers, he was willing to hand over carefully-written paper copies of his part of the project so that you could transcribe it. And he didn't make you feel like you needed to take a shower after a fitting with him, which made him a definite improvement over Bay Leaf any day.


	2. Problems, and Dealing with them

The problem with Basil is that it was easy to forget that he wasn't a changeling. He does things that are so very human, like groaning as he sprawls out with too-long limbs, a cup of coffee in hand, as he complains about a paper or an essay. Or making an absolute idiot of himself as he tries to flirt with some guy. Or trying to figure out how much hot chocolate mix you can add into a cup of coffee before it starts turning into caffeinated pudding.

The problem with Basil is that it was easy to like him. Perhaps he made it easy on purpose. But he offered you advice (not freely given, of course, but easily paid for with a coffee or a hot chocolate), and he didn't always call in obvious debts; he gave you time to think and come up with payment. He was more prone to smiling, when insulted, than getting obviously angry. (This did not mean it was smart or safe to insult him.) And you hardly ever got bothered as much by creeps, since he showed up.

The problem with Basil is that he likes you. Not the way you like some of your classmates; not the way one human is gently fond of another. Not even the way something likes food. He likes you the way that the cats like Cat Eyes, and the way the crows like Feathers; possessive and territorial, even if you have not _(yet)_ chosen to trust him or return his affection. You didn't ask for it - you're pretty sure it's not anything you did that made him decide to like you, you can't think of anything. You can't ask him to not like you; that'd be rude on top of being dangerous. You're sure that it's a bit dangerous anyways, to have one of Them _like_  you, and it's definitely _creepy_  because he seemed to like you from the moment he saw you.

(There is also the problem that he refuses to eat anything except for chocolate, and coffee, and alcohol. You're pretty sure it isn't that he _can't_  eat other things, it's just that he doesn't see the point. But that's practically mundane, compared to the liking. And it's not like it's that easily noticed anyways - a lot of other students look like they're living off of coffee.)

You make small deals - coffee and baked goods (once, a bottle of cheap wine), in return for unasked-for advice that you don't dare refuse ( _and don't dare ignore, after that once_ ) because you know enough to be aware you're in dangerous territory here and making mistakes is part of learning, but you have to _survive_  in order to learn anything. Transcribing his essays onto a computer and emailing them to the professor for him, in exchange for materials you can use in class projects for textiles (because he can't touch the computer at all, and you were looking at having to restart one project for the third time). You're not sure who got the better end of the deal there; you end up with incredibly wordy, passionate essays, pages long, and sometimes the words are just a little too fascinating to be purely mundane, but you don't seem any worse off for reading them _(you check, you have to)_ and whatever it is he's done to the words doesn't seem to translate once it's put into the computer; he's always disappointed, when he reads it over your shoulder, but it's a faithful transcription and he gets good grades for the work.

Gradually, one step at a time, you find the two of you becoming friends. It's _nice_  to have someone you can vent to, without worrying they'll take it wrong or assume you're exhausted or crazy. And having someone who will explain the rules and at least try to warn you if you're going to make a mistake is helpful, for both of you.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that he's different. And sometimes, it's really, really hard to forget - like when he stares too long and too hard at people who won't back up out of your space when you've tried to politely make it clear you're not interested in a date, his crooked-toothed smile always too wide and showing too many teeth. Like when you have to invite him in, when he comes over to your dorm room to study with you, and you have to smudge the salt lines so he can get across the threshold on his own. Like when he's stuck on one side of campus, with a whole bunch of other students, during the days when it rains so hard that some of the paths are crossed with temporary brooks and streams. Like when he has to be careful about where he touches you, because you have iron on your fingers and your wrists and your ankles _(and in your bones)_ all weighting you down and keeping you here.

Gradually, it almost stops mattering. (Almost. You put most of the rings away, clip some of the others onto a chain bracelet.) It's still a surprise when he says "freely given" as he sets a cup of coffee next to you, as you're pulling out notes to go over one last time before the test; it gets some attention from anyone in earshot. Neither of you stops keeping track of what's owed, but it becomes more familiar and friendly.  
The first piece of knitwear you give him is not freely given; it's a scarf you give in exchange for his help, because you ended up at a party somehow ( _you're not sure how, you never remember much about anything that night from the time you left class to the moment he gently took a glass out of your hand and told you that you shouldn't be drinking tonight and you needed to get home so you wouldn't miss class; the most vivid part you remember is someone complimenting your hands and talking to you about needlework and knitting_ ) and he walked you home after you left it. ( _It was a Friday. He still told no lies, and he made sure you got home safely; he sat up with you and drank coffee with you, and you both watched the sun rise and burn away the fog._ )

(You checked, later. No one admits to having thrown a party that night. And a handful of names ended up on the 'indefinitely tardy' list afterwards. Not yours. But you're not sure if anyone else made it home safe from that party; you don't dare ask. You don't ask how he knew where you were, either.)

He wears that scarf as often as the weather allows, and sometimes when it shouldn't, and you're not sure if he's displaying a trophy or if he genuinely likes it. Both, maybe. You're more willing to hedge your bets towards him genuinely liking it, after you give him a pair of gloves (freely given) and he wears them just as often.

After the gloves, he starts adding 'freely given' to his advice more often. Not all the time, but on days when you're tired and need nothing more than a nap (rather than another fetch-quest to get him coffee or chocolate) and days when your schedule is so full that it feels like you've barely got time to breathe. He doesn't do it for long, and offers you a remarkably simple deal instead: you'll buy him chocolate and coffee on Tuesdays, and he'll give you advice that doesn't conflict with any of his prior obligations.  
It's a very simple deal. Dangerously simple, with a lot of room for twisting the words and spirit on both sides. But you're three years into your textiles degree (after one year of undergrad where you were undeclared), and you've been through so much together at this point - would he turn it against you? _(He might. You know, deep in your bones, he might...but only in the same sense that an animal might chew its leg off to escape a trap. And you could turn it against him just as easily.)_ The framing helps, him going "this is getting annoying, can we just make an easy deal on it" and you know enough to not blame him for preferring not to build a habit of saying 'freely given' half the time he offers advice or material aid. It'd be a dangerous habit for him, after all. (Merely foolish, for you.)

You start making chocolate baked goods, to give him on Tuesdays. Because the spirit is as important as the letter, and fresh cookies are just plain _better_  than a chocolate bar from the vending machine. ("Damn right it is," he agrees when you explain.) And besides, just because nothing can go too badly wrong on a Tuesday, that's no reason to rely on being able to easily find chocolate and coffee that day.

(One of the ways this deal could be turned on you, quite easily, is if you weren't able to get either coffee or chocolate that day. All it would take is locking you in your dorm room, really. Both of you are aware of this. You see no need to tell him about the precautions you've put in place, in case that happens; unless it does happen, he doesn't really need to know about the jar of instant coffee and the bags of chocolate you picked up on sale after Halloween and Valentine's Day. Likewise, there's no reason to tell him about the bottle of coffee creamer and the cheap whiskey you keep in your mini-fridge. Relying on the cafeteria not running out is risky, after all.)

You end up baking enough that you're considering adding a minor in culinary (or even a whole additional major), because it's _fun_  and you like learning things you enjoy doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are just broken up by wherever it felt like there should be a transition point. This may or may not make them a bit short.
> 
> Also, reading through, I seem to have switched tenses a lot. This may or may not get fixed later; I'll at least try and edit it so that it makes sense.
> 
> Edited a couple lines so that you don't necessarily need to know who Cat Eyes and Feathers are to understand how their respective animals feel about them. (Also, edited because I mis-remembered how Cat Eyes' name is spelled; I thought it was Cats Eye. And tweaked a couple words, to make it flow better.)


	3. Threes and Family and Deals

Everything comes in threes, of course. And you've made two proper deals with him by the time you're looking into doing a double-major in culinary and textiles. You're still working in the costuming department for the theatre, because why wouldn't you? You understand, by now, why the hand-sewing and you're good at your work. You're good enough that you've gotten attention for it; gotten a few commissions for knitted or woven items, paid in things that can't be taken off campus but at least don't turn into leaves afterwards either. It's flattering and if you can't take the payment off campus, you can still display it in your room or trade it for things you need, or use it in other work.

You shouldn't stay in the sewing room after night falls. But it's finals week, and you need to get this last garment _done_  so that it will be ready for opening night.  
You shouldn't fall asleep in the sewing room. And you don't mean to. You really don't. But you're so _tired_ , and you're sure you only nod off for a second after you finally manage to get the last knots done on the hem.  
You shouldn't be alone in the sewing room in the theatre. But you were so focused, you never noticed as your colleagues packed up their things and left to get to other things, other places that weren't the sewing room after nightfall. You thought you weren't alone. _(You weren't wrong.)_

Things are blurry, after that. You recall spinning yarn, weaving fabric, cutting it to shape and sewing it to make garments for a lady _(no, a Lady...your Lady? she says so)_. You're...not sure how long any of this takes. Not so long that the Lady is displeased with you; she is delighted with your work, and the parts of you that aren't tired thrill with her praise.

You hear voices. Arguing, perhaps. One of the voices is the Lady. The other is...you know that voice. Something nags at you, but you need to finish hemming this gown so the Lady can wear it to her next revel. Stitch by stitch you work, and stitch by stitch the voices become clearer _(although you never recall the words, later)_. It isn't until the last knot in the hem, when you blink down at your sore and bloody hands _(no blood on the dress, no blood on your work, but stains seeping through the gloves she put on you)_ and realize that one of the Lady's servants is standing next to you. "It's time to go back, Houndstooth," they say. The Lady looks on, not angry but not happy either _(she would rather have kept her tailor, her weaver; but she cannot argue that Basil bargained fairly)_ and you are walked to the edge of her domain to wait for Basil as he leaves. There is hugging and relief and gratitude as he claims you and walks you home to your apartment.  
(You had never bought Cat Eyes' glasses, or worn any mood rings. Any curiosity you had about what was under his glamour was satisfied enough by your work in tailoring costumes for him, and you knew better than to be _rude_. It is a shock, to see him in feathers and talons and colours that might be violet if seen through Other eyes, when the face you know him to wear has freckles and lips and skin. A part of you is no longer surprised that he gets on so well with the crows.)

You're not sure how long you were gone for. Long enough, in more mundane time, that you and he both need every day of the full week allowed per semester for this sort of problem. (Not-Houndstooth at least tried well enough that you don't argue over most of your grades. Your colleagues in costuming are equal parts sympathetic and annoyed. She made a mess of your finals project for weaving, though, and you try not to look too close at the shapes the green flames make as the tapestry burns; your professor allows you to drop the grade and retake the class, there's no mundane way to redo six months of work in the two weeks she can offer you and you've lost enough hours for now.)

There is a debt, of course. There must be. He had no obligation to come for you, to rescue you, to barter for your life and freedom and future; he is not an RA, who is duty-bound to try and rescue students. No Deal you had with him covered this. _(You're flattered, that the scarf you made for him so long ago was worth enough to get you free, and you make him a new one, but that's not **e** **nough** and you both know it.)_

Later, in the library as you're both ostensibly studying for one of the make-up exams, you ask what he wants in exchange. You have to ask, because you can't think of what would be _enough_  and trying to offer something that isn't enough risks offending him. _(He wouldn't be angry, but it'd still be an insult and it still would leave you owing.)_

"Be my sister."

And oh, it seems so easy. So small. _(But not really. You have learned enough of the rules to understand why he can't leave campus, to understand the limits of his role.)_ And really...you always _have_  wanted a brother.

"My sister, blood and bond and true. Your family is my family."

You take long enough to think about it that it doesn't seem like you're leaping on the offer, like he could have gotten more. "Done." The deal is sealed properly in your room, with a penknife that's cleaned and isn't iron. You let mama know Basil will be coming home with you, over break, and she can read between the lines; when she turns up to pick you both up, she looks at him and sighs. "You always did want a brother."  
He smiles, a little too wide, all the way on the drive home.


	4. Talk Is Free

There are rumours afterwards. There always are.

They say he stole your Name. That he gave you his own in return. That your mother bound him to you, required to protect you and guard you. That he's less sibling and more guard-dog.

You laugh at some of these. The one person you hear saying that he is anything less than your brother gets backhanded, and you might have sewing hands, knitting hands, but you have muscle built up from loom-work and stirring dye-vats full of fabric, from kneading dough and mixing cake. You avoid trouble from that only because you can, legitimately, claim insult over the suggestion that Basil isn't your brother in blood and bond and truth.  
No one ever implies, in your hearing, that he's less than family to you ever again.

The truth is both more and less mundane than the rumours try to claim. He did not steal anything, but you came home on a Sunday (and Sundays aren't lucky at all, there's too many hangovers garnered that linger through to Monday, too many term papers and essays left to the last minute; no student you know would consider Sundays _lucky_ , even if something didn't need to balance out Tuesday). And the old woman who lives next door was outside, and you were just tired enough and sore enough from the car trip that you weren't able to get inside before she could see you and call out a greeting, asking you by name (by _Name_ ) how you were doing and goodness, didn't you look thin. And Basil, still awake and alert despite the trip, heard her and you don't need to see him to feel the edge to his smile.

Mama hurried him inside, leaving you to talk to the neighbourhood grandma, and he was drinking a glass of Ovaltine-laced milk (chocolate, sure, but still milk provided by your mother; and Ovaltine was what she gave you as a child, a comfort and a ritual) and she was folding up a piece of paper by the time you were able to get away and come inside. She made a Deal for your safety, true. Made him vow to keep you and your Name safe, as safe as he would keep himself and his, but what he got in exchange was being her son in blood and bond, in truth and law.  
 _(You got a look at what was written on the paper, later. And she complained to you about the paperwork involved, in getting him recognized as her son when Bay Leaf had parents already who weren't at all Involved.)_

He ate, a little, over dinner; you still aren't sure if it was politeness or ritual or whimsy. He's never eaten anything since that wasn't laden with chocolate or coffee, not even for you. But for your mother, he ate roast beef and mashed potatoes and new peas, and none of you commented on how he abstained from salt and didn't clear his plate. (He ate all of the chocolate cake that she gave him, which she had made for dessert. None of you commented on that either.)

Later that night, when you were both in your room and ready to settle down for sleep _(mama made sure he had a room of his own, he didn't have to be in yours, he didn't have to share your bed; he chose to)_ , he whispered his Name to you. It didn't say much for his sense of self-preservation, except that you didn't use it against him; you pulled him into a hug and kissed his forehead, and told him with truth that you were _so glad_  he was your brother.  
You have never, ever said his Name. Not even in the safety of your mother's house, far from campus and Elsewhere. You hope you'll never have to say it, but you won't give voice to that hope, you won't make plans based on it.

Later still, you both filled out forms back on campus, so that the two of you could get an on-campus apartment together. It would be weird, after all, for you and your brother to live in different quarters if it would be more sensible to share an apartment. You adjusted your protections, you wore less iron still, and he still refrained from becoming your shadow - siblings should be close, but you both needed space to breathe and there was only so much contorting either of your schedules could bear; he was already your plus-one to any party, making sure your drinks were safe and that you didn't dance too long and that you made it home safely, there was only so close he could be and still be himself. _(And he had to be himself. Your deal gave you a brother, not a shadow.)_

Afterwards, you knitted him a cardigan because the weather's got a way of turning cold and windy without much warning. And if there's feather patterns worked into it, if the yarn is handspun and from the first lambswool you shear that year and dyed a vivid purple that still can't quite match his eyes, if you picked out the buttons based on what seemed to catch Feathers' attention most, if there's love in every stitch...well, it's still freely given all the same. He gets your shoulder wet, with all the tears your shirt ends up soaking, after you give it to him.  
He is never seen without it, except if he's on-stage and in costume, even on days when it's too warm for him to wear anything else as a top.


	5. Not An Ending

Bay Leaf comes back, eventually. A few semesters after Basil has moved in with you. His Gentry boyfriend got tired of him, you guess, or maybe word got back to him about the Deals you and Basil had made. It's annoying, on the one hand, because it seems like everyone expects Basil to leave when Bay Leaf gets back - but he won't and can't and doesn't have to, because Basil is your _brother_  and that gives him a space that wasn't defined by Bay Leaf and room to stay.

(What you would do, if he were forced to go back, is never said and you're glad you don't have to think about it. You do not admit to anyone except Basil that you tend to know exactly where Lavender and Sage are, on any given day; who else is he, if not your best friend, after all?)

On the other hand, it's a relief because it'll be that little bit easier to bring Basil with you when the two of you graduate (if you ever graduate, it seems like there's always so much more to learn) because he's your brother and like hell you're leaving him behind.

Bay Leaf is...changed, of course. (You were too. The only errors you make in your stitchwork and weaving, any more, are purely deliberate; the Lady did not want _flaws_  in her clothes. You make sure to put some into all your work, for safety's sake; a too-perfect work is dangerous.) And he doesn't leave the campus, and you don't ask if he could; you're not curious. You weren't really friends with him before, and you doubt that's going to change - your bonds are with Basil.

_(They always were. The universe took its time to acknowledge it, is all.)_

Basil changes his appearance a little, so that he's not getting asked if he has a twin. Or at least he says he does. You don't admit that you can't really tell, that he still looks like himself: too-purple eyes, crooked-toothed grin, freckled face, and lanky _(too-long, too-thin)_ limbs that make a person want to feed him so he won't starve. You don't remember what Bay Leaf sounded like enough to be sure if they sounded at all alike (you doubt it, Basil's cawing, cackling laugh is completely his), but they definitely don't now.

Bay Leaf goes back into CompSci, eventually becomes a professor and marries his Gentry boyfriend. No one ever really expected that he was going to leave campus, anyways. You and Basil continue on as you have done, living in each others' pockets and you working on your degrees (you're part-way into a masters on textiles, and a bachelor's in culinary track) and him working on his English major. You sort of expect Basil to go look for a boyfriend too, but he doesn't really get any better at flirting; he seems to take a liking to one of your culinary classmates, though - not quite the same way he likes you, and probably mostly motivated by the way Spicebox (not his chosen nickname, but the guy changes it every semester to fit whatever herb or spice he likes least at that time - he was going by Sriracha when you met him) is always willing to trade for small things in exchange for being able to off-load some of the leftovers he ends up with after class projects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Houndstooth says that a too-perfect work is dangerous, she's referring to a belief held by at least some weavers and knitters that making a completely flawless work is bad luck for various reasons. Sometimes, because it'll draw attention you don't want (or be seen as a challenge, seen as a claim of pride and vanity). Sometimes because it will keep any bad luck trapped in the work. The solution, of course, is to put a couple of deliberate errors into the work just to ensure against everything going so well that no natural errors occur.
> 
> Also, this chapter's a lot shorter than the others because I had to write it up quickly after I started posting the rest to AO3; I felt like I needed to explain what happens to Bay Leaf, in as much as Houndstooth ever really pays attention to him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Blood and Bond and True](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696256) by [Limesparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limesparrow/pseuds/Limesparrow)




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